


Live

by nausicaasmith



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Xenopolycythemia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4314033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaasmith/pseuds/nausicaasmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy tells Spock he's dying.  Spock tells McCoy he's not.  Nobody tells Kirk shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I gotta tell ya somethin', Spock."

That was how it began.

"But you can't tell Jim."

Fascinating.

Spock was sitting at the desk in his office behind Science Lab B. He had been doing some light research on a newly discovered species of feline that had recently been found in the jungles of Risa. It was a curious development; Risa had been inhabited by a space-faring race for several hundred years now, and the fact of such a discovery so late in their development was something of an aberration. Nevertheless, it had caught Spock's interest and he took a few minutes to read about it while the computer ran a simulation based on this morning's calculations.

It was nearing lunch time, and Spock intended to meet Nyota in the mess for tea and fruit. They were currently involved in a long-range stellar cartography assignment, so Spock had been excused from bridge duty so that he could be near the science departments in case they needed help with their scans and calculations. In fact, the bridge crew was working in short rotating shifts so that they could all have some down time to work on their personal projects while the ship was in a relatively safe situation.

Spock, because he kept a close eye on the senior staff and especially the science crew, knew that Leonard McCoy had not taken advantage of this. They had been on this schedule for two weeks, but the CMO had continued to work his regular shifts plus overtime in sickbay. Spock had noted this but kept his opinion to himself; he knew that humans required more rest than Vulcans, however he trusted McCoy to know his own limitations. Clearly, that trust was misplaced.

Spock had noted weeks ago that the doctor had lost weight, and because he had already received a large clue from his elder counterpart he decided to wait rather than confront him. By Spock's reckoning, McCoy by now would be suffering from fluctuating blood pressure and accompanying dizziness at the very least. However, given the pasty skin and slumped posture of the man who had just entered Spock's office, it was likely that he was also experiencing intense fatigue, lack of appetite, shortness of breath, excessive bleeding or bruising when injured, and perhaps a whole host of other symptoms.

Perhaps Spock had let this go too long after all. McCoy did indeed look like a dying man, and no doubt his condition had been exacerbated by the long hours he'd been working in spite of the fact that there were no emergencies, no landing parties and no pressing experiments. Clearly it had been an effort to distract himself from his own mortality. Humans had many great qualities, but their logic was often seriously flawed. Spock looked at the doctor blankly for a moment before opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a tricorder.

"Have a seat, Doctor." Spock said as he stood, calibrating the device.

"Look, I don't have time for a tea party, Spock," McCoy grumbled, ignoring the chair that Spock was gesturing to. "I just need to inform my commanding officer of some personal details, and I need you to not tell Jim."

"I'm afraid I cannot make any promises with regards to the Captain." Spock mentally scowled at the numbers running across the tricorder's screen. "Do sit down," he said again.

"Yeah well Jim don't need to know this, and what the hell are you scannin' me for anyway?" McCoy's accent got thicker when he was agitated. This was a source of interest for Spock and great amusement for the Captain.

"You do not believe that your friend needs to know how ill you are?" Spock raised an eyebrow as McCoy's eyes widened. "Sit down, Doctor."

McCoy dropped into the seat at the corner of Spock's office, scowling at him.

"You know." he finally said. Ah, humans and their peculiar talent for stating the obvious.

"Indeed." Spock set the tricorder down, turning his back to McCoy and picking up a PADD. He had charted the doctor's possible progress and prognosis carefully. It was of course hypothetical, since he did not have access to the most correct data, however Spock had calculated that his estimates were 91.54% accurate.

"You ain't told Jim?" McCoy sounded a little shaky. Spock turned back to him, pulling up the chart he had created. It was not crucial, of course. The fact that McCoy was ambulatory and coherent meant that he was well within the parameters of safely enduring the cure's side effects. The tricorder data confirmed this.

"It was not my place to tell Jim, it was yours." Spock narrowed his eyes pointedly at the dark haired man.

McCoy sighed. "Fair enough. Look, he's under a lot of pressure. This could do a lot of damage. The kid don't need to know yet."

"Yet?" Spock tilted his head to one side ever so slightly, in such a manner that he knew reminded humans of domestic cats. Only Jim and Nyota had ever been so bold as to say so. "When did you believe he would need to know? When you are too weak to work? When you are hospitalized? Do you think that it will be less stressful for him then, to learn that you are on your deathbed?"

McCoy reddened and spluttered, gearing up for an argument, but Spock held up a hand.

"There is no need doctor." Spock opened another drawer. "I will not tell him the truth of your condition, provided you follow my instructions and cooperate. Do you understand?"

McCoy looked wary. "I dunno, cooperate with what?"

Spock turned back to the doctor and jabbed him viciously with the hypospray he had withdrawn from the desk drawer. It might have been retribution for all the times McCoy had punished Spock and Jim for their recklessness by treating them less than gently. But Vulcans were not a vengeful people, so it was merely a happy coincidence that he had been ordered to 'sneak up on' McCoy with the cure.

"Dammit, man, what the hell was that?" McCoy rubbed the side of his neck furiously, not having seen that coming. "I've already taken all the meds I can deal with today!"

"That, Doctor, was the cure." Spock maintained his indifference as he threw the hypospray into the trash and McCoy began to shout.

"Cure? Cure, my lily-white ass! You obviously don't know what's going on here, because there is no goddamn cure and I don't have time for any kinda false hope bullshit!"

"You believe I would do such a thing, if I were not certain?" Spock picked up his PADD, called up McCoy's work schedule, and deleted it. "I have tested it thoroughly. You will begin to experience some unpleasant side effects in half an hour or so."

"Bullshit!" McCoy was on his feet now, pacing back and forth. "I've got six months to live and here you are—"

"You have a lifetime to live, Doctor." Spock called up a different file and thrust the PADD at McCoy. "You may see the results of my tests yourself. However, I suggest you return to your quarters now and take a mild analgesic and something for nausea. You will wish to lie down for a few hours."

"I can't do that, I'm still on duty!" McCoy still sounded outraged, but he was looking over the data on the PADD with interest.

"In fact, you are not. I have removed you from the roster for the next two weeks." Spock picked up his comm and gestured McCoy toward the door even as the man protested having two weeks off. "Allow me to escort you to your quarters, Doctor, and I will answer any questions you have."

They exited Spock's office and made their way to a turbolift, where they rode silently up three decks. The CMO's quarters were much closer to sickbay than the other senior officers', so that he could arrive there quickly in emergencies. Fortunately it wasn't too far from the science labs, and they arrived at McCoy's door before the doctor became to exhausted.

"Some analgesic, Doctor." Spock reminded him as they entered, and McCoy grumbled his way to the bathroom and rummaged around in the medicine cabinet. Spock observed him swallow a handful of pills with a cup of water from the sink. He came back, still grumbling, and sat on the couch in the little living area.

"What the fuck, Spock?" he said, elbows on his knees, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

"Specify, Doctor." Spock took a step toward him, watching for any sign of a bad reaction. He remained standing at parade rest, hands behind his back, and attempted to look non-threatening. It wouldn't do for McCoy to throw him out at a time when he really needed to be monitored.

"Ok, just suppose that maybe it really was the cure for xenopolycythemia. Where the fuck did you get it?"

Spock had already conceded that he was going to have to reveal his source, or endure the doctor's wrath until the end of time. He had mentally rehearsed the whole conversation 13 times.

"You are aware of Jim's friend, Ambassador Selik."

"Your time travel expert, right."

"Indeed. He is not merely the foremost expert in the field, however. He is an experienced time-traveler himself."

McCoy looked up, eyes narrowed.

"Time-traveler."

"Yes." Spock nodded. "He has lived for over two hundred years and taken many trips, as I understand. He is not only a diplomat and an expert in temporal anomalies, but an astrophysicist, a computer programmer, a biologist, a starship Captain. A chess master."

McCoy chuckled. "Chess master," he repeated.

"What I am telling you is beyond classified. Only three people in the galaxy know the truth: myself, Selik and Jim. And Jim does not know all of what I am about to tell you. I trust that you will tell no one?"

"As long as you aren't going to tell Jim what I came to tell you, fine."

"A mutually beneficial agreement." Spock leaned forward imperceptibly; McCoy had begun to sweat. "Ambassador Selik does not belong to this time."

Spock believed that flabbergasted was the appropriate adjective for McCoy's expression here.

"What?" he breathed.

"Selik arrived here from the same universe as Nero, Doctor. He does not often give us specific information about his experiences, for fear that it may influence our behavior. In his own time he wrote the Temporal Prime Directive, which says that we may not interfere with any alternate timelines."

"Ok." McCoy wipes sweat from his face on his sleeve. "And in his universe, they have the cure for xenopolycythemia, I suppose?"

"Correct. In fact, Selik himself discovered the cure. He left me extensive notes on it, saying that although he did believe he should withhold most of his experiences from us, it was his discovery and he may dispense it to whomsoever he deems deserving."

"Pfft, bullshit. He's somehow decided that I'm deserving?" McCoy huffed in a breath, and Spock moved forward to grip his arm. The blue tunic was damp with sweat.

"Doctor, you appear to be in distress. Do lie down."

He thought McCoy would argue, but instead he came willingly as Spock guided him past the sleep partition and instructed him to remove his boots and shirts. He settled onto the bed while Spock moved to the replicator and dialed up a glass of cold water and a flimsy ice pack. He handed both to McCoy and seated himself in a chair by the bed.

"Are you in pain, Doctor?" he asked.

"Not much. Keep talking." McCoy pressed the ice pack to one of his wrists.

"Very well. Selik obviously believed you were deserving, or he would not have given me the formula."

"The formula?"

"Yes, on a data card, the last time he visited. He scanned you with his tricorder after you and the Captain fell asleep in the observation lounge. He left specific instructions for me to administer the cure to you without your permission, and then release the formula to Starfleet Medical in one year."

"Well goddamn, he thinks real highly of somebody who he's met twice!" McCoy was laughing weakly. "Decided I didn't need a choice in my own health care. Shit, Jim got to die once, why can't I have my turn?"

"He believed you would argue that there were other people who needed the cure more than you," Spock stood, heading for the bathroom. "and I trust his judgement and obey his orders explicitly."

"You do, do you?" McCoy muttered. Spock retrieved a towel and pressed it over the doctor's wet forehead. "Thanks."

"We are never too old to benefit from the wisdom of our elders, Doctor. And Ambassador Selik is... exceedingly elder."

McCoy chuckled again. "Well, maybe he knew me in another lifetime. Dammit, there are other people who need that cure. There are kids with this disease. I definitely would have argued."

"He did indeed have his own Leonard McCoy."

"Really?" The doctor was now shivering. Spock pulled a spare blanket from the foot of the bed over his shoulders.

"Yes. I am given to think that he assumed your personality would be much the same, especially after having met you in this universe. Have you eaten today, Doctor?"

"I had some coffee." McCoy said. "Not hungry much."

"Selik's instructions were for you to consume at least three thousand calories per day. Allow me to get you something from the replicator, or call your yeoman to bring a plate from the mess."

"Not now, Spock. Tell me about this cure."

"It is nearly one hundred percent effective. So long as the patient isn't actively dying, it is likely that they will survive if treated. The side effects of the original formula were harsh, but Selik spent many years adjusting it after discovery. You may have muscle aches, fever and chills, nausea and vertigo. You may also become dehydrated." Spock gestured to the still-full glass of water that McCoy had set aside. "Selik wishes for you to drink plenty of water and monitor your kidney function carefully. You are to remain off-duty for two full weeks, even if you feel as though you have recovered."

"Because he's a doctor now, is he?"

"He is many things. Would you prefer tea, or an electrolyte drink?"

"Whiskey."

"I'm afraid that alcohol will not help you stay hydrated, Doctor."

"Fine, whatever. Any other instructions from the old man?"

"He bade me reassure you that you are indeed worthy of the cure, as he was sure you would be very angry at having it forced upon you."

"Damn right." McCoy sniffed, still not drinking the water. "If I didn't feel so shitty I'd be kicking your ass right now."

"Of course, Doctor." Spock already knew that it was best to simply agree with the threats of bodily harm, as if the man wouldn't sustain more damage to his fist than Spock would to his face. "In his notes he informed me that by saving your life, he would be saving many thousands more who will benefit from your treatment someday."

"Sure, sure." the doctor muttered, obviously unconvinced.

"And he hopes that you will not be so upset that you refuse to see him when he visits next, however if you do he will be satisfied with the knowledge that you will live."

"We'll see about that."

"He wished for you to know that in his own time, you saved his life, his father's life and his friends' lives many times over, and he hopes that you will humor his foolish ways. If you do not agree with his logic, you are free to accuse him of going senile."

"Very thoughtful of him." Spock was unsure whether or not this was sarcasm. He was also unsure of whether or not he could actually repeat the last part of Selik's message with any kind of dignity. He cleared his throat.

"Selik would also like to offer you a 'virtual hug.' He claims he would offer you a real one, but he knows that you are a doctor and not a teddy bear."

McCoy was quiet for a long moment.

"Huh," he finally drawled. "Maybe he did know me."

"He asserts that you and he were great friends in another lifetime. And you have agreed to follow instructions. You must eat, and you must have something to drink before I leave you to rest." Spock stood. "I will get you anything you like, but you must eat something."

"Fine." McCoy groaned, annoyed. He moved to get up. "I'll get some stew from the—"

"You will stay where you are, and I will get it." Spock moved to the replicator as McCoy cursed at him. "Do you know the number?"

"Four-four-six-two-seven."

Spock returned a moment later with a bowl of chicken stew and a fresh glass of water. McCoy complained but finally ate quietly while Spock took out his comm unit and called the Captain.

"Doctor McCoy has contracted a strange flu, sir, and I have removed him from duty." Spock informed him. "He is in no danger, but requires rest and nourishment."

"I knew it!" Jim's voice came back over the line. "He looked like crap the other day at lunch, and he hardly ate anything."

"Indeed. I have escorted him to his quarters and put him to bed."

"Good. Tell him I'll check on him when my shift is up, and he better not pull any funny business."

"Funny business, sir?"

"Never mind, Spock. Just make sure he's settled and I'll come play nursemaid in a couple hours. Kirk out."

McCoy had struggled up and padded to the bathroom, muttering irritably and grabbing a clean pair of pajamas from his dresser on the way. Spock picked up the mostly empty bowl and glasses and returned them to the replicator while the doctor changed. He saw a particular juice blend on the screen that was apparently a favorite, so he ordered that and set it on the nightstand. He was pulling the comforter back when his unwilling patient reappeared.

"Jim says no funny business, Doctor." Spock informed him. He ushered McCoy into the bed and pulled the covers up.

"Too tired for funny business, Spock." the doctor replied. "I was comin' to tell you that I was getting' too anemic and shaky for a regular shift anymore."

Spock had to admit his curiosity. "You were overexerting yourself to begin with. And you expected that I would hide this from the Captain, how?"

"Dunno, you're the genius, not me. Would you—" he pointed at the desk, where a PADD and comm unit lay. Spock gathered them both and brought them over. "Thanks. So, in Selik's time, if he had his own McCoy, did he cure him too?"

"I assume so, though he gave no particular details of the circumstances." Spock sat back in the chair. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just... it's such a random trick of fate. There's no Selik on this ship, so if you and Jim hadn't known time-traveling Selik I would have died rather than been cured." McCoy looked tired, but he wasn't sweating or shivering now. He shifted uncomfortably under the blankets. "This universe's Selik probably died on Vulcan, or else he's a million light years from here."

"On the contrary, he isn't far at all, Doctor." Sometimes Spock worried about whether or not most humans were deliberately oblivious. "Do you know of no Vulcan scientists aboard, who are also computer programmers, chess masters and astrophysicists?"

McCoy stared for a second. Then another second.

Finally: "You ain't tellin' me that sweet old man is you. No fucking way."

"Two hundred years older, wiser, and perhaps, as he says, more foolish."

"Jesus, fuck." said McCoy. "How did... fuck!"

"Selik explained to us once that he believes that all universes tend to right themselves after an interruption." Spock steepled his fingers as he spoke, while McCoy continued to stare at him. "Nero came and disrupted our timeline, and yet somehow the Enterprise's crew came together the same as it did in Selik's timeline. A decade early, with a decade less experience, but still in the right place at the right time. I had done no research regarding your illness, and yet by the time you contracted it Selik was available with the treatment at hand."

"That's... Jesus." McCoy scrubbed his face with both hands. "How does that even happen?"

"I cannot say, although I suspect the Ambassador has his theories. You should sleep, Doctor, if you can."

"Not sleepy, just achy and tired. I should get up and finish my papework from this morning."

"You will not." Spock insisted. "You will rest here, whether or not you sleep." He picked up the PADD and touched the screen. "I will call up my notes on the tests I ran on the cure, perhaps you would like to review the results in detail. When you are stronger, Selik would no doubt appreciate your opinions on how the formula may be improved." He handed the device back. "I will finish your paperwork at your terminal and transfer any patients you have to other doctors."

Spock turned toward the desk. McCoy's voice stopped him. "Spock."

"Doctor?"

"Thank you." McCoy said. "Really."

Spock nodded once. "As we say, the honor is to serve."

McCoy fell asleep shortly thereafter, and Spock stayed to finish the doctor's work and divert everything else to the other medical staff. Two point three hours later he was still there, reading about the Risan felines on McCoy's terminal when Jim exploded into the room with a tray of chicken broth and ginger ale. McCoy startled awake immediately and swiped the PADD clear of the data it had been showing.

The Captain proceeded to fuss over McCoy, calling him 'Bones,' piling on more blankets and reprimanding him for not getting a flu vaccine. McCoy rolled his eyes and cursed at Jim, who ignored him and fluffed the pillows while muttering "calories, asshole." Spock made a mental note to send a message to Selik later, thanking him on the oblivious Captain's behalf. McCoy was right: Jim did not need to know.


	2. Chapter 2

Bones was puking.

Not right at the moment, exactly, but Jim could smell the sour of sick when he arrived at Bones's quarters that morning. Bones had done enough puking at the Academy, on shuttles, during flight simulations, and after long nights of drinking, for Jim to know when the man had puked. He was sitting at his desk, dressed and ready for his shift, when Jim popped in without buzzing.

"You stood me up for breakfast, Bones!" he said, after taking in the pale, indignant face and the sick smell. "It was pancake day!"

Now, this was exactly the kind of thing that made people think that Jim was an ass. It was obvious that Bones wasn't feeling well. What he really wanted to say was _Tits, man, are you ok?_ But he already knew that if he asked that the answer wold be _'M fine, dammit, go do captainy stuff_ , and he would never get a real answer. He would have an easier time gauging how Bones really felt by being his usual obnoxious self and seeing how his friend reacted. Good thing nobody was here except the two of them.

"Sorry kid, some stuff came up." said Bones, turning back to whatever he was doing at the terminal.

"What kind of stuff?" _Stuff like the contents of your stomach?_

"Nothin' too important. I'll come to dinner, how's that?"

"Fine, dinner. My quarters. Maybe I'll invite Spock.

"And maybe I'll accidentally spill some cocoa powder in his fancy tea."

"And maybe I won't stop him from knocking you down a couple ranks."

"Dinner. Now get out."

"Later, Bones."

Jim left, marching toward the bridge. So Bones had barfed, and Bones was kind of pale, and Bones was irritable but there was nothing new about that. He didn't seem extra irritable, but then it had been a short conversation. Hard to say. Then again, the barfing was a definite sign. Plus, yesterday Bones had come to lunch but had only eaten two bites of his sandwich and none of his carrot sticks. The wasted food bothered Jim on a basic level, but that was a different hangup. Obviously, Bones was sick.

In fact, Jim was sure he'd lost a few pounds in the last month or so. Not enough that most people would notice the difference, but Jim saw Bones every single day and had been doing so for years. He knew what Bones looked like, and the difference was obvious to him. Given his experiences on Tarsus IV, it was the sort of thing that made Jim very nervous. He would definitely see that Bones ate real food at dinner, and he'd drag his ass to breakfast in the morning if he had to.

Jim had to do six hours on the bridge today before he was relieved, a short shift while they were in friendly space mapping stars. Sulu was at the helm, Uhura was at communications and Checkov was at the science station covering for Spock, who was down in the science labs doing sciencey stuff. Otherwise it was deserted, which was kind of lonely. On the other hand, there weren't any crew members coming and going either, so he could speak pretty freely with these guys.

"Hey, any of you guys noticed Bones acting like a dick lately?"

Yeah, there was the jackass persona.

Uhura raised a single Spock-esque eyebrow. "You mean more than usual?"

"I mean more than usual, yes." Jim didn't laugh, because it was true.

"No, not more than usual." said Sulu.

"Aye, but he is not himself, Keptain," said Checkov. "I vas in sickbay last week, and he vas looking wery white, sir."

"Is that so?" Jim pursed his lips, considering. It was good to have a second opinion to back his up. But that still didn't mean it was safe to confront Bones about it. He knew from experience that Bones could be belligerent and violent when sick, and even more so when accused of being sick. If Spock were in Jim's head he'd say that was highly illogical, and he'd be right. But there was some rhyme and reason to it: Leonard McCoy didn't like to feel weak, and he couldn't stand for others to know he was weak.

Jim personally didn't see hurling your guts out as a weakness, just a fact of biology, but Bones seemed to think that as a doctor he should naturally have an immune system made of duranium alloy.

Maybe he'd send a message to Spock, telling him to come to dinner with a tricorder and surreptitiously scan Bones. That would be safer than actually asking Bones if he was sick. Jim spent the morning brooding about it, wondering whether Spock could hide a tricorder in one of his meditation robes, and whether or not they could sneakily do anything about it if Bones did turn out to have something. Maybe Jim could crush up some aspirin and sneak it into Bones's coffee. Or peach cobbler, Bones loved peach cobbler!

It was lunch time when he got the comm from Spock, telling him that Bones was really sick and unfit for duty. It was the most convenient way it could have happened; Jim did not have to nag Bones, and he didn't have to personally remove him from the duty roster. Spock could be blamed for all of it. Jim was surprised that Spock had even noticed that something was, but it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Spock might pretend to be confused by humans and their illogical ways, but he was way more perceptive than most people took him for.

Rest and nourishment, then, is what Spock had said. Jim could do that.

Two and a half hours later Jim burst into the CMO's quarters with as much enthusiasm as he could, carrying a tray of real chicken broth from the mess with crackers (the kind shaped like little goldfishes) and a glass of real ginger ale (in case Bones was still hurling). Bones was dozing on his bed with a PADD but woke quickly. Jim snatched the PADD away and tossed it—somewhere. He shoved the tray onto Bones's lap.

"You can have peach cobbler later if you eat all your broth," he demanded, and marched over to the bathroom for more blankets from the recycler. Spock was sitting at Bones's desk, watching in what Jim had come to know was faint amusement. Bones was cursing loudly as Jim returned with blankets and bundled Bones up like a burrito.

"Shut up and eat your damn soup, Bones." snapped Jim. "This is retribution for all the times I've been trapped helplessly in blanket prisons, at your mercy."

He found a pillow and plumped it up thoughtfully. Bones glared at him and sipped the soup.

Jim frowned. Something was Not Right here, but he had yet to put his finger on it. He tried to be scientific about his dilemma for a moment. Spock would have been so proud.

Fact 1: Bones was the worst patient ever. Jim knew this from experience, having been his roommate during the Academy's Saturnian Stomach Flu Epidemic of their second year. It took a lot for Bones to admit that he didn't feel well.

Fact 2: Bones was tucked into bed in the middle of the day. In pajamas, no less. It was one thing to take an afternoon nap, it was quite another to actually dress for bed as if you were going to be there a while. It either spoke to Spock pulling rank and forcing the doctor off duty, or to the fact that Bones must really feel like shit warmed over.

Fact 3: Spock was still here. He had commed over two hours ago, and he was still here. Spock must think that this was serious, or he wouldn't have been. Yes, he was absently scrolling through some articles across the room on Bones's terminal, but this was basically the Vulcan equivalent of anxious hovering.

There was definitely something worse than the flu going on here. Jim would weasel it out of one of them one way or another, but first...

"Dammit Jim, I don't need any more pillows!" Bones snatched the extra pillow from where Jim was trying to sneak it onto the bed and whacked him with it. Jim ducked and got hit anyway, but there wasn't a lot of force behind the blow.

"No horseplay, you're supposed to be convalescing. Did you eat all your broth?"

"I ate the damn broth, douchebag."

"And all the fishes?"

"Fuck you and your fishes."

"Ok now get sleepy." Jim grabbed Bones by the wrists and wrestled him down flat onto the mattress. Bones put up a half-hearted fight, which Jim was winning easily, until suddenly a pair of frighteningly strong arms closed around Jim's torso and yanked him away.

"Spock, what the—" Jim struggled against Spock's grip, but he already knew it was futile. He'd been manhandled by Spock plenty of times before and there was just no point in fighting. He found himself deposited on his feet at the door, with Spock's hand in an iron grip around the back of his neck.

"The Captain and I need to have a word, Doctor." Spock said, as if he hadn't just snatched Jim up and fucking carried him across the room like a flailing toddler. "We will return shortly."

"Spock!" Bones's voice was cut off by the sound of the door swooshing open, and Jim was shoved out into the hallway with Spock glowering over him.

"What. The. Hell. Spock?" Jim rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't hurt, and he knew that Spock had been carefully moderating his strength, but damn. "You better have a good answer."

"Captain, I apologize, as I was clearly remiss in explaining the situation adequately." Spock fell into a parade rest in the deserted hallway, while Jim leaned up against the CMO's door with a scowl. "The doctor is in a more delicate condition than you realize, and you must refrain from any rough treatment. He will bruise very easily, and if scratched there is a danger that he may bleed uncontrollably."

Jim opened his mouth, surprised, but was cut off by a warning look from his First.

"The doctor has been treated for his illness, however he will continue to experience symptoms in addition to the side effects of the treatment for several days. He will suffer from pain, nausea, dizziness, perhaps fever and chills. He needs to be monitored, and you may stay if you can be gentle. However, if you injure him I will remove you from his presence."

Jim smirked. "Is that so, Commander?"

"Indeed, that is so, Captain."

Spock's face was extra blank, which Jim had come to know meant he was _having feelings_ right now, and Jim was overcome by a wave of guilt. He might have hurt Bones, and he'd definitely upset Spock.

"Yeah, fine, I'm sorry, Spock." Jim turned toward the door.

"Apologies are unnecessary. You did not know."

"Ok, now I know. I'll be good."

"Very well."

They reentered Bones's room quietly, in case he had fallen asleep again. They needn't have worried, because Bones wasn't in the bed. Spock was looking around curiously when Jim spotted a couple drops of bright blood on the sheets.

"Bones?" he called, immediately alarmed. The bathroom door was shut, and Jim didn't want to just barge in on him, but Spock was already there keying in an emergency access code. The door slid back to reveal Bones leaned over the sink, dripping blood profusely from his nose.

"Fuck!" Jim exclaimed, taking Bones by the arm while Spock snatched a towel off the rack and pressed it to the doctor's face, encouraging him away from the sink. It registered that the blood was watery and thin, and oddly brighter than it should be. A symptom of the not-flu? "Did I do that? I'm sorry, Bones! I—"

Bones shook his head, patting Jim on the shoulder. "You didn't, kid, my blood pressure shot up is all." Fuck, here he was in Doctor McCoy mode, comforting Jim when he should be worried about stopping the flow of blood from own his fucking face.

"Doctor, sit." Spock was pressing Bones down to the floor.

"'m fine, Spock." Bones flailed, fighting them off, but Spock was not deterred.

"Doctor if your blood pressure is not stable you may become disoriented, and if you fall you may injure yourself on the surfaces in this room."

Sounded like deja vu to Jim. At least he was on the other side, this time, but right at the moment that wasn't any comfort at all. They got Bones seated on the floor of the bathroom and Spock went to fetch a tricorder from sickbay. Jim stayed, kneeling, rubbing one hand (gently) into the doctor's back.

"Wha'd Spock say to you 'n the hall?" demanded Bones, though he sounded much less intimidating with half his face covered by a fluffy towel.

"That I better watch it, or else." Jim said. "What, is he like your bodyguard now?"

Bones snorted "More like my warden."

Spock reappeared, focused on the tricorder he was waving at Bones. Jim backed off a little, so he didn't get in range and interfere with the readings.

"Your blood pressure is indeed abnormally high, Doctor." said Spock. "But this is beyond my level of training, so you will have to instruct us."

"Gimme the damn thing," said Bones, waving a hand for the tricorder which Spock handed over. Bones looked at the readings, but didn't seem alarmed. "'Snot that bad. Best to let it go away on its own."

"So...?" Jim scooted back closer with a fresh towel, taking the bloody one away and chucking it into the recycler chute mounted in the wall.

"So the patient sits quietly and waits for the bleeding to stop. Now get outta my face."

Grump, grump, grump. Jim got up and went back out to the sleeping area. He stripped the soiled sheets off the bed and stomped them past Bones, stuffing them into the recycler and calling up clean ones. He kept one eye on Bones's hunched figure as he made the bed. Spock disappeared and reappeared a second time, now with a handful of hyposprays. Jim grinned inwardly; this might be interesting.

Bones was already cursing as Spock bent over him, pressing each hypo into his neck in turn. Spock had chosen the perfect moment though, because Bones couldn't struggle much without bleeding all over himself and Spock had him trapped against the counter anyway.

"Dammit Jim, get your shadow off me!"

"The patient sits quietly, Bones." said Jim, with an inappropriate amount of satisfaction. Oh yeah, Karma was on his side after all.

"What the hell was all that, anyway?"

"More analgesic and an anti-emetic, Doctor. I believe it would not be good for your blood pressure if you were to vomit."

"I ain't vomited."

"You did this morning!" corrected Jim. He didn't look, but he could practically feel Bones glaring at him from the bathroom floor. He busied himself with plumping up the pillows and adding more blankets onto the bed.

"There was also a tri-oxygen serum and a mild sedative."

"I've already been in bed all day!"

"Stop yelling Bones, it isn't good for yoouuuuu." Jim was almost sing-song in his contentment. Bones was going to be drowsy, stuck in a blanket prison and at Jim's mercy for possibly the rest of the evening. Suddenly every time he'd been sick in the past five years—every sniffle, every allergic reaction, every stomach bug that had forced him to submit to his roommate's whims—seemed so worth it for this one day of sweet, sweet revenge.

"Shut your face, bastard." Bones was batting Spock away, struggling to his feet. "Get out, hobgoblin, I'm takin' a shower."

"Are you done bleeding?" Jim asked, popping through the door before Bones could lock it on them.

"Yes I'm done bleeding, now fuck off so I can scrub."

"You're not gonna fall and crack your head open, are you?"

"Fuck off!"

Spock handed Jim a pair of clean pajamas through the doorway. Jim laid them on the counter for Bones, who was practically shoving him out. His face was reddish, and he'd broken out in a sweat.

"Fine, I'm going, but if you take too long and we think you're sick Spock is going to break the door down."

"Fine, fuck off."

The door shut. Jim looked at Spock, who moved back over to the terminal.

"If you intend to stay, Captain, I will return in a few hours to take a tricorder reading before gamma shift begins.

"Yeah, I'll stay." Jim frowned at him sternly. "This isn't the fucking flu, Spock. He's really sick, isn't he?"

Spock hesitated.

Spock. _Hesitated_.

Jesus fuck, was it that serious?

"Spock?"

"It is not the flu, however I am not at liberty to say more."

"Wow, way to be evasive. But he's going to be ok, right?"

"He will be in a weakened state for some weeks, but I have confidence that he will make a full recovery."

"Good." Jim sighed. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "Does he need to take any medicine?"

Spock indicated a few hyposprays that he had placed on the bedside table. "These will reduce his symptoms and the side effects of the treatment. He may have another dose of each in four hours. He must also eat well and rest. I have removed him from duty for two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"He was not able to complete his shift today, and it is not safe for him to continue working if he has spells of dizziness. There are many sharp instruments in the sickbay."

"Yeah, ok. Hypos in four hours, food, sleep."

"Do not allow him to consume alcohol."

Jim grinned. "That's oddly specific, Mister Spock. I take it he's already tried."

Spock nodded once. "He needs to be properly hydrated, and liquor will have the opposite effect."

"You are so right, Spock."

Blanket prison. Hyposprays. Sobriety.   _Yes_.

"I have removed myself to beta shift, Captain. If you wish to stay the night with the doctor, I will arrive an hour before alpha in the morning so that you may take your leave."

"You don't have to do that, I'm sure we can get one of the nurses to come and sit with him."

"I doubt he will tolerate his own staff in this situation."

And there it was again: Spock was way more perceptive than most of the human crew gave him credit for. It was true that Bones wouldn't want to be seen by the nursing staff in his condition; he'd see it as an admission of weakness. Jim didn't want to cause any awkwardness in sickbay, nor did he want to compromise Bones's authority there by ordering him to comply.

"Fine. I'll let them know that he's on personal leave. You can get all the medicine he needs?"

"Indeed, I have clearance to use the synthesizers in med bay. If I did not, we do have a set in every science lab."

"Of course. Then I'll see you in a few hours?"

"Indeed."

Spock disappeared a few seconds before Bones emerged from the bathroom, looking less red-faced and more sleepy. He climbed onto the bed while Jim picked a sports drink from the replicator that he knew Bones would tolerate.

"Will you drink this, please?" he said, trying to sound sincerely worried. "Spock wants you to be hydrated."

Bones scowled but took the glass and downed it quickly.

"Do you want something to eat?"

Bones shook his head, dragging the covers up. Jim tucked them around the doctor, surprised when there was no protest.

"Spock's medicine working?"

Bones nodded.

"Gonna sleep?"

Another nod.

"Want me to read you a story?"

A scowl.

"Ok. I'll be here when you wake up."

Bones was already drifting off. He must have been tired already, for that sedative to be kicking his ass so hard. But Jim thought he remembered tiredness being a side effect of hypertensive crisis, from when his granddad had been dying from some heart-or-age related thing. He thought headache was one too, but Spock had already given Bones something for it.

Jim called the lights down and kicked off his boots. Officers got full sized beds instead of twin bunks like the rest of the crew, and Jim hadn't really appreciated that until now. He padded around to the other side of the bed and stretched out with a PADD. He could do his paperwork here and then submit it to his terminal in the morning. He wasn't too surprised when he got the urge to drift off, lulled by the steady rhythm of Bones's soft breathing beside him.

Spock shook him awake some time later, to tell him that the doctor's numbers were somewhat improved according to the tricorder. Jim watched as Spock administered the hyposprays and bribed Bones awake with a bowl of replicated peach cobbler. Spock demanded he drink a glass of juice, then set up another group of hypos on the nightstand and left for the night. Bones grumbled in his drowsy state, but Jim slung an arm across him and told him to go back to sleep.

He hadn't expected to be so unwilling to torture Bones during what was possibly a once in a lifetime opportunity. Tomorrow. Jim would definitely, definitely exact his revenge tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

Leonard was lying somewhere hard. He was pretty sure it was the floor of the bathroom in his quarters, since that was the last place he remembered being. He must have drifted off, because judging by the numbness in his arm he'd been lying here for a while. If it was the floor, he must have fallen asleep on the blanket he'd been tangled in, because he wasn't cold. That wouldn't surprise him, given the way Jim had insisted on folding him up in blankets as if he were a newborn that needed swaddling.

He opened his eyes in the semi-darkness of ship's night. The first thing he saw was Jim curled up next to him, on a blanket of his own, sound asleep on the white tile. The second thing that registered was a comforter draped over them, apparently suspended over the sink and tied to the shower door handles. Leonard raised his head, noting sheets hanging down on each side, creating a square tent over them with a small opening toward the door leading to the sleeping area. They were surrounded by a nest of pillows, among which were scattered a comm, a PADD, and a juice box. A goddamn juice box.

Leonard wanted to be annoyed, but frankly he couldn't muster the energy. It wasn't that uncomfortable, even if it was pretty juvenile. It was completely in keeping with Jim's behavior; when circumstances were outside his control the kid's ability to be mature was seriously compromised. Still, it would be best if he could get up and get to the bed. After the emotional rollercoaster he'd been riding the day before, he was exhausted and knew that he'd benefit from some real sleep.

There was a tricorder among the debris, too. Leonard grabbed for it and scanned himself quietly, hoping the high pitched whine wouldn't wake the young Captain beside him. The readings appeared quickly, and Leonard stared in dull shock. His oxygen saturation was up, more than just the tri-ox injections could have accounted for. His blood pressure wasn't fluctuating nearly as badly. The other numbers were improved as well, in spite of the fact that yesterday morning he had determined that he had finally entered the inevitable downhill slide.

Maybe Spock was right. Leonard allowed himself a moment to hope, that maybe he did have a real future. Maybe he wouldn't have to break Jim's heart, after the poor kid had been abandoned over and over again in his short life. Maybe he wouldn't have to send that letter he'd written to his mother, apologizing for not being good enough to save his father or even himself. Maybe he'd live to see the results of that research project he'd started last month, after all.

He didn't want to get ahead of himself, but Leonard knew that there was no other explanation for the upswing in the readings. The cure was working, and with rest and lots of calories he should be back to work soon. Not that Spock was likely to let him go back until the two weeks was up, since he claimed to follow Selik's orders so carefully. And God, Selik. He'd have to write a long damn thank-you note for this. Maybe send him some fuzzy socks and a bottle of expensive chocolate liqueur.

In the meantime... Leonard reached out a hand and smacked Jim across the face. The kid startled awake, blue eyes barely sparking in the faint light as he blinked blearily.

"Hey Bones," he slurred. "You okay? Need anything?"

"The fuck is this, Jim?" Leonard gestured to the tent over them.

"Blanket fort, duh. No girls allowed." Jim stretched.

Leonard stared. "You are so fucking weird." he said.

"You barfed, and fell asleep, and I didn't want to move you because Spock thinks you're delicate and I might have dropped you."

"So your solution was to build us a clubhouse. What am I, a doctor or a second grader?"

"I'm starved. You want breakfast?"

"Oh, nice deflection. Breakfast? It's the middle of the night!"

"Dinner, then. Whatever." Jim got up. "Spock says you need three thousand calories per twenty four hours. You're at least going to drink some of that purple stuff."

Leonard knew that he was right, but he resented being told what to do. He also resented this damn blanket fort, but frankly it was kind of comfortable. Jim came back with a bowl of steaming oatmeal and a glass of the purple electrolyte drink.

"Look, there's peaches and cream in your oatmeal!" said Jim, as if that were some kind of novelty.

"Oh, and when did you have time to program that in?" Leonard took a small bite. It wasn't bad, for replicated fare. But he knew that yesterday there hadn't been oatmeal with peaches in the replicator. His stomach protested the second he swallowed and he put the spoon back down.

"While you were drugged incoherent last night."

"Dammit, Jim, just because I'm from Georgia don't mean everything has to be about peaches."

"Pfft, if I were from Georgia it would be All Peaches, All the Time."

"But you ain't, you're from Iowa, and I don't see you puttin' corn in everything."

"That's because corn is fucking boring. Peaches are exotic and delicious. Like Orions."

"You are disgusting."

"Your face is disgusting."

"The blanket fort's about to be disgusting if you don't find me one of those nausea hypos real quick." Leonard shoved the bowl away, almost spilling the purple stuff, but Jim snatched them away quickly and disappeared through V-shaped opening in the sheets. Leonard put his head down on his forearms and took a deep breath, clenching his teeth and willing himself not to vomit. A second later there was a sting at his neck and then Jim's hands under his arms.

"Do you need to get up?" Jim was saying, poised to support him should he lunge in the direction of the toilet.

"No." Leonard mumbled. "Just be still for a minute."

"Kay."

Again, he didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up to find Spock kneeling outside the blanket fort and scanning him with the tricorder. He wasn't in uniform, just his blacks, and he looked almost like a curious cat as he took in the blanket fort, the pillow nest, and the juice box.

"Your numbers are much improved from last night, Doctor." he said, tilting his head to one side. "What manner of construction is this?"

"It's a god-be-damned blanket fort, Spock." Leonard rolled over to find Jim plastered to his side, which wasn't an unusual occurrence for when they fell asleep on the same surface. The kid gravitated toward warmth, and Leonard had learned to tolerate it because he knew that the contact helped him sleep more deeply and warded off nightmares. Spock was still staring. "It's a thing human kids do. They think it's..." he waved a hand, looking for the right word. "Cozy. Like they're shielded from the real world, or something. A psychological thing."

"Ah, I see." Spock eyed the blonde, who was starting to stir. "You derive comfort from the closeness and intimacy of being confined together in a small space."

Well, goddamn. For somebody who claimed that emotions were useless and illogical, Spock sure could come up with some insightful bullshit when he was inclined to.

"Somethin' like that. Jim, get the fuck off me." Leonard struggled against the kid's dead weight and the tangle of blankets.

"Captain, you are due on the bridge in an hour." Spock said loudly, and Jim finally roused. "It would be prudent to return to your quarters and prepare."

"Right, right." Jim struggled up, just as tangled in the blankets as Leonard was. "You take good care of Bones, call me if you need anything. I'll bring lunch, okay?"

Leonard swatted Jim's hands away as they tried to pat him on the head, growling obscenities. Spock had brought a handful of hypos with him and began administering them while Jim got his boots on and left. Leonard laid still and allowed himself to be dosed with vitamins and minerals, analgesics, anti-emetics and tri-ox. He didn't like it, but knew that there was no logical argument he could make that would deter his Vulcan babysitter.

He was surprised when Spock brought him a plate of French toast and a glass of pineapple juice in the blanket fort. He'd expected Spock to disassemble the damn thing, not indulge the humans in their emotional crutches. Still, he guessed it couldn't hurt anything to leave it. And Jim would be delighted if he came back with lunch and found Leonard still here. He ate the French toast slowly, deciding he might as well leave it for that long, and after lunch he would take it down and get in bed.

Spock appeared again, squatting at the opening, a dubious look on his face.

"Would you prefer that I sit in the... fort... with you?" he said, looking supremely uncomfortable.

Leonard choked on the toast, snorting helplessly into a nearby pillow. He pictured Spock, ramrod straight, shiny hair brushing the ceiling as he attempted to study a PADD amidst the pillows. Spock, for his part, said nothing, but took the almost empty plate away before Leonard disrupted it and got syrup all over the fort.

"No, Spock," he finally gasped, tears streaming down his face. "No, the fort was really for Jim, not me. You can sit wherever you like."

"Very well." Spock stood. "Do let me know if you require anything. I will download and complete your paperwork for the day."

"You don't have to do that, I can get up later and take care of it."

"Perhaps you can, but you will not. If I find any difficulty I will bring it to the fort."

Spock settled himself at the desk in the other room while Leonard decided to take a shower, hoping it might ease the deep ache in his muscles. It had set in about two months ago and steadily grown worse as he developed a tolerance to one pain med after another. He had resigned himself to living with it for the remainder of his time, but now that survival was possible he found himself impatient to get rid of it. He locked the door and turned the shower on as hot as he could stand, then stripped and stepped in carefully.

The hot water went a long way toward soothing the ache, and Leonard found himself standing under the spray for longer than he probably should have. It was a waste of water, but damn it was good to be an officer and have access to real water rather than just sonics. It wasn't something he took advantage of all the time, but since he'd been sick it had made the difference between getting through another day or calling it a lost cause.

He toweled off gingerly, his skin overly sensitive and red from the shower, and called up clean pajamas from the recycler. He had plenty in the dresser in his sleeping area, but since he was already standing here he might as well not bother. He opened the door back up, locking it opened, and crawled back into the ridiculous fort. Spock was still at the desk, focused on work but probably paying careful attention to Leonard's activities as well. Leonard grabbed the PADD from among the pillows and looked over the last twelve hours of logs from medical.

Nothing much had happened, just a couple of minor burns and a case of tendonitis. The other doctors and the head nurse had it covered, which reduced Leonard's stress level considerably. He didn't want to be off for two damn weeks.

On the other hand, being off for two weeks was better than being deceased. Leonard wasn't an optimist, but he figured that this was one of those times when you've got to look on the bright side.

He woke up—Jesus, when did he start sleeping all the time like this?—with Jim crawling into the fort and setting a tray in front of him. He peeled his cheek off the PADD it was pillowed on as he raised up on his elbows, seeing meatloaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, two rolls, a dish of peach ice cream and a glass of iced tea. Leonard glared at him, but Jim just grinned.

"I told the cooks you weren't feeling well, so they fixed you up." he held up a couple of hypos. "Better have these first so you don't lose it in ten minutes."

Leonard held still and let Jim dose him, then dug in while Jim came back with his own tray of pizza, chicken wings and cinnamon rolls.

"You eat too much bread." Leonard complained.

"You shut your whore mouth," said Jim around a mouthful of starch, "there is no such thing as too much bread."

Spock appeared at the bathroom door and eyed them both warily.

"What's up, Spock?" said Jim, "Want to join our secret club?"

"I merely wished to point out that you are eating lunch in a bathroom." Said Spock placidly. He was clearly disgusted by the idea, but too polite to actually say so.

"So tonight I'll move the fort behind the bed, problem solved."

"Like hell, you're takin' it down as soon as we're done with lunch."

"Oh come on Bones, you know being sick is more fun in a blanket fort. I'll dig up a flash light and we can tell ghost stories before bed, how's that?"

"Why are you such a fucking child?"

"Says the dude who spent all morning in a blanket fort."

"Did not. I took a shower."

"Next to the blanket fort."

Spock moved away and went back to his own steamed vegetables and pasta, clearly at a loss to interpret this exchange.

Leonard couldn't quite finish his plate, but Jim took his tray and left the ice cream for him. He came back a minute later and fluffed the pillows and straightened the blankets while Leonard swore at him.

"I've got to go back to the bridge for about three hours," he said, "but I'll be back with snacks. Be good for Spock and play nice and I'll bring you a special treat."

Jim slipped away before Leonard could hurl the ice cream bowl at him. Spock came and scanned him again, telling him that his numbers were steadily climbing.

"You may not feel better immediately, but your red blood cell count is steadily decreasing and your oxygen saturation is stabilizing." he said, kneeling in the fort's opening. "I will send these scans to Selik through subspace and have him confirm that they are consistent with what he expects to see. Do you require anything?"

"Yeah, a fuckin' stimulant." Leonard muttered, rubbing his face. "I'm tired of all this sleepin'."

Spock almost-frowned. "I do not believe that would be wise, Doctor. You have overexerted yourself for weeks when you should have been resting, and now that you have been forced off duty by your illness, your body is compensating. I suggest that if you feel compelled to sleep, you should sleep."

"I've got shit to do, no time to sleep."

"Doctor, I personally deleted your schedule yesterday. You do not have 'shit to do.'"

Leonard raised his head sharply, eyes widening at the Vulcan.

"Did you just say 'shit'?"

"It was a direct quote." The face was as perfectly neutral as usual. "You should sleep, Doctor. I will mention the sleeping to Selik in my message. Perhaps he has some insight." Spock rose and took his leave, turning the bathroom light off behind him but leaving the door open.

Leonard stared after him for a moment, then nestled down into the blankets with a curse. Spock just said shit. That was one for the books, that was. He'd have to remember to tell Jim when he came back.

He woke up tucked into his bed with Spock leaning over him. He could hear someone banging around in the bathroom, presumably Jim.

"What 'm I doin' here?" he said. Spock handed him a peach flavored protein shake. "Dammit, that's enough with the peaches!"

"Jim wished to relocate the fort, so I returned you to your bed a half hour ago." said Spock, pointing a tricorder at him. He lowered his voice. "Selik has informed me that your progress is in line with his expectations and that you will make a full recovery. He also indicated that you should sleep as much as you are inclined to. His own Doctor McCoy suffered from fatigue for months after his treatment, falling asleep in many inappropriate places. With the improved formula, however, you should move past this stage in only a few weeks."

"Lovely," growled Leonard. He sat up against the weight of a million blankets and sipped the damn peach shake.

"I am due on gamma shift, but I will return when my shift is over."

Jim appeared, pajama-clad with an armful of blankets, and set about building the fort back between the edge of Leonard's bed and the side of the nearby dresser, using the nightstand as a corner. The opening now faced toward the desk. He dragged more pillows and blankets into it than were strictly necessary.

"There," he said finally. "All ready for breakfast." He flopped onto the bed with Leonard. "Want something to eat?"

"No."

"Too bad, you're getting chicken and rice." he pulled a plate seemingly out of nowhere and shoved it into Leonard's lap.

"Dammit, Jim! I already drank this fruity shit!"

"Eat it, or I'll read you a story."

Leonard rolled his eyes. Jim puttered around while he ate. Leonard ignored him and put on his most disgruntled face. Jim finally lighted on a chair by the bed, straddling it backwards like he was one of the cool kids or something. He leaned forward over the chair's back, resting his head on his folded arms.

"So," he said. "Spock told me everything."

Leonard chuckled. "Spock didn't tell you shit."

Jim sighed dramatically. "Ok, no, he didn't tell me shit. But I know you have something worse than the flu."

"Whatever, kid." He held out the half-empty plate. "Get this outta my face."

Jim took the plate and chucked it into the replicator, where it disappeared.

"Look," he said, sitting back down. "You don't have to tell me, 'cause I know how you are about being sick. Just promise me that you're going to get better, ok?"

"Knock it off with the sad puppy face." Leonard dragged the covers up, scooting down in bed. "I ain't promisin' you anything."

"Booooneess!"

Leonard sighed. He could at least reassure the kid, without freaking him out. Maybe he'd tell him him the whole truth in a year or two, when he'd gotten over the shock himself.

"Ok, it's not the flu." he said finally. Jim pouted. "And I can't promise that everything is going to be fine, but Spock promises that it's going to be fine and all the data so far agrees with him."

"Because Spock is a doctor, now?"

"Eh, he happens to have a project involving this and his calculations are excellent. I've looked it over."

"So, you're going to get better."

"I'm getting better already, even if it doesn't look like it." Leonard patted the empty space on the bed beside him. "Bring your PADD over here and quit hovering."

Jim crawled onto the bed and settled in with an extra blanket.

"Spock is going to come back after his shift and scan me, but even the readings he took this morning are better than the ones from last night." Leonard patted the kid's arm. "He says I'll be tired for a few weeks, but I'll get over it."

"Are you sure?" the big blue eyes were wide and trusting, and Leonard ignored them savagely.

"Spock is sure, and that's good enough." Leonard called the lights down. "Now play a game or something, I'm going back to sleep."

"Ok. I'll wake you up for dinner when Spock gets here."

"Fine."

When Leonard woke up it was still semi-dark. He sat up, looked around blearily. There was a PADD on the pillow next to him, with a glowing message: SPOCK WOULDN'T LET ME WAKE YOU. GET US UP AND WE WILL HAVE DINNER.

Get us up? Leonard surveyed the dim room. He was alone in the bed, but he could definitely hear someone breathing softly nearby. He hauled himself across the mattress, leaned down, and lifted the flap of the blanket fort.

Jim and Spock were both curled up in the pillows and blankets there, sound asleep. Jim was drooling a little on his pillow. Spock looked much younger, his face relaxed his sleep, his perfect shiny hair fanned out. His pet tribble was trilling softly, perched on his chest. Moving almost on auto-pilot, Leonard grabbed his comm unit off the night stand and snapped half a dozen pictures.

Jim snuffled softly, so he let the sheet fall closed again. He had no idea how Jim had coaxed the uptight Vulcan in there, but it didn't matter. There was no way he was denying Spock the experience of waking up with Jim plastered to him like a starfish, so Leonard declined to rouse either of them. He allowed himself an evil laugh, dispensed the hypos Spock had set up for him into his left thigh, and went back to sleep.


End file.
